Read Online Caring Is Creepy by David Zimmerman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Zimmerman
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of kudzu and honeysuckle, the only sounds the screech of tree frogs and the twitchy hum of the streetlamps and the
tap, tap, tap
of the bugs making blurry halos above each pole. August nights in Metter smelled like jasmine blooms and garbage juice with a faint tang of creosote drifting underneath. Lightning bugs flashed yellow in the weeds along the road like tiny thunderstorms. Even though the sun had been down for hours, the air still felt as warm and moist as an armpit. We cut across the lawn behind the First Baptist Church to avoid any late traffic, but we didn’t see a single car until we got downtown. A light shone inside the old train depot and a shadow moved behind the window of Jenkins Hardware. Dani and me struck out along the train tracks that ran through the center of town. A cat appeared, eyed us sullenly, and scuttled away into the shadows. Above it all, a tiny red light atop the water tower flashed on and off, giving us quick peeks at the message painted beneath it: METTER IS BETTER . To me, this always asked the question:
Better than what?
Hell?
Neither of us spoke. The quiet was too perfect to break with anything but the squeak of our shoes in the dew-soggy grass.
Right before we got to the gravel road leading down to the Keegan place, a car came up the hill behind us fast. A big engine with a deep-throated growl. Dani grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the stand of young pines beside the road, but we weren’t quite quick enough to avoid being spotted. The car slid to a stop on the sandy shoulder and idled for what felt an infinity. We froze, blinded by the headlights, two ditzy does. I scrutinized its silhouette, shading my eyes with a hand, but couldn’t tell if it had a cop-car top. But no, an old Buick Skylark with these horrible spinning silver rims pulled up. The window came down with a glassy squeak. Dani sucked in a breath and squeezed my hand.
“Where you two ladies going—”
Another person sniggered.
“—on such a fine summer night?”
The voice sounded familiar—in Metter, every voice is familiar—but I couldn’t match a face to it.
Dani could. She let loose of my hand and stepped up onto the shoulder, stumbling over a loose rock and holding out her arms for balance. “You scared the hell out of us, H.K.”
Now I knew. H.K. Keegan. This was Wayne’s older brother. Four years since he dropped out of Metter High and still wild as all get out. Every single one of the Keegan boys was trouble, but H.K. distinguished himself. I’d heard he spent three months in the county lockup for punching someone out in the parking lot of the Quick & Sleazy the year before. The man had told H.K. he liked his new tattoo. H.K. didn’t believe him.
“You need a ride someplace?” H.K. asked Dani. “You and your friend there?”
That dark someone in the car beside him mumbled a couple ofthings. I heard the word “jailbait.” H.K. shaded his eyes and peered over at me.
“Well,” Dani said, drawing the word out a second or so longer than necessary.
“Aw, come on. Get your butts in here. I won’t have it said I’m not a gentleman.”
Again, that sniggering from the other passenger.
The door swung open and H.K. pulled himself out. He stood about five foot eight, but carried himself like a much bigger man. Stringy, hard muscles and tattoos on both forearms. I noticed a tattoo of Woody Woodpecker on his neck. He made a small bow and gestured us into the backseat. Dani bent to crawl inside and he patted her on the ass as she passed beneath his arm.
When I hesitated, he took my arm and helped me in back—his touch was gentle but had firmness underneath that said,
You ain’t going nowhere, girl
—then got in the front.
“I recognize you from somewhere.” He tugged at an earlobe and made a short study of me in the dome light. “Yeah. You’re Darla Sugrue’s daughter, ain’t you?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Your mama sewed up my arm one time.” He lifted up his arm to show me a
tap, tap, tap
of the bugs making blurry halos above each pole. August nights in Metter smelled like jasmine blooms and garbage juice with a faint tang of creosote drifting underneath. Lightning bugs flashed yellow in the weeds along the road like tiny thunderstorms. Even though the sun had been down for hours, the air still felt as warm and moist as an armpit. We cut across the lawn behind the First Baptist Church to avoid any late traffic, but we didn’t see a single car until we got downtown. A light shone inside the old train depot and a shadow moved behind the window of Jenkins Hardware. Dani and me struck out along the train tracks that ran through the center of town. A cat appeared, eyed us sullenly, and scuttled away into the shadows. Above it all, a tiny red light atop the water tower flashed on and off, giving us quick peeks at the message painted beneath it: METTER IS BETTER . To me, this always asked the question:
Better than what?
Hell?
Neither of us spoke. The quiet was too perfect to break with anything but the squeak of our shoes in the dew-soggy grass.
Right before we got to the gravel road leading down to the Keegan place, a car came up the hill behind us fast. A big engine with a deep-throated growl. Dani grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the stand of young pines beside the road, but we weren’t quite quick enough to avoid being spotted. The car slid to a stop on the sandy shoulder and idled for what felt an infinity. We froze, blinded by the headlights, two ditzy does. I scrutinized its silhouette, shading my eyes with a hand, but couldn’t tell if it had a cop-car top. But no, an old Buick Skylark with these horrible spinning silver rims pulled up. The window came down with a glassy squeak. Dani sucked in a breath and squeezed my hand.
“Where you two ladies going—”
Another person sniggered.
“—on such a fine summer night?”
The voice sounded familiar—in Metter, every voice is familiar—but I couldn’t match a face to it.
Dani could. She let loose of my hand and stepped up onto the shoulder, stumbling over a loose rock and holding out her arms for balance. “You scared the hell out of us, H.K.”
Now I knew. H.K. Keegan. This was Wayne’s older brother. Four years since he dropped out of Metter High and still wild as all get out. Every single one of the Keegan boys was trouble, but H.K. distinguished himself. I’d heard he spent three months in the county lockup for punching someone out in the parking lot of the Quick & Sleazy the year before. The man had told H.K. he liked his new tattoo. H.K. didn’t believe him.
“You need a ride someplace?” H.K. asked Dani. “You and your friend there?”
That dark someone in the car beside him mumbled a couple ofthings. I heard the word “jailbait.” H.K. shaded his eyes and peered over at me.
“Well,” Dani said, drawing the word out a second or so longer than necessary.
“Aw, come on. Get your butts in here. I won’t have it said I’m not a gentleman.”
Again, that sniggering from the other passenger.
The door swung open and H.K. pulled himself out. He stood about five foot eight, but carried himself like a much bigger man. Stringy, hard muscles and tattoos on both forearms. I noticed a tattoo of Woody Woodpecker on his neck. He made a small bow and gestured us into the backseat. Dani bent to crawl inside and he patted her on the ass as she passed beneath his arm.
When I hesitated, he took my arm and helped me in back—his touch was gentle but had firmness underneath that said,
You ain’t going nowhere, girl
—then got in the front.
“I recognize you from somewhere.” He tugged at an earlobe and made a short study of me in the dome light. “Yeah. You’re Darla Sugrue’s daughter, ain’t you?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Your mama sewed up my arm one time.” He lifted up his arm to show me a
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